The White Mouse
by Komitus
Summary: After the defeat of the dark lord, Harry Potter is starting his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. But Draco Malfoy is up to something, an ancient artefact threatens the survival of Hogwarts, and Harry and his friends can't resist another adventure. Werewolves, monsters, and adventure. AU- post DH, ignoring epilogue and CC.
1. Dawn at Grimmauld Place

The grey fingers of a dreary morning probed the moth-eaten curtains of the smallest bedroom in Grimmauld Place, illuminating the protective spells around the four poster bed like dust motes in the air.

Harry Potter lay curled up in the thick sheets, which had been freshly washed but were still as grey and care-worn as the rest of the furnishings in his inherited house. It had been almost three months since the death of Lord Voldemort, but in his dreams it had been less that a second. Sleep was haunted by the image of that ghostly face, cracked and burning, the life leaving his eyes like a ghastly spirit fleeing a tomb. Voldemort was dead, but he had left no end of hurt and hardship in his wake.

There was a large, brass bell sitting on the table beside the bed. As the light glanced against its side it rose into the air, trembling with anticipation, and rung itself vigorously with an ear-splitting cacophony equivalent to the roar of a cathedral gong. Harry blustered awake, instinctively reaching for his wand, and as he tumbled from bed the bell fell back into position, its job done.

Harry knelt on the floor for a few moments, head reeling. He stared at the pattern on the threadbare carpet, which drifted in and out of focus before his eyes. Slowly, he got up and reached for his glasses which lay on the bedside table beside the bell, his wand and a stack of paperwork.

For the past three weeks Harry had been spending the majority of his time in the Ministry of Magic, either sitting in or speaking at the Wizengamot, the wizarding court. The war trials had been embarked upon with surprising efficiency, considering that half the ministry was under arrest, but the sheer volume of cases to be investigated meant that they were only halfway through and already Azkaban was groaning at its gates.

This, however, would be his last day in court. Harry looked around for his formal robes, laid out the night before, and as began putting on his socks he felt a bittersweet sense of closure. This marked the final step of the journey he had prepared his whole life for, but now he had an even bigger business to attend to- that of building a life.

For his entire adult life he had been defined by the battle with Voldemort, whether it was a distant threat or a looing certainty. There hadn't been time to worry about the future when the present was holding a wand to his back. Now here he was, almost eighteen and completely at a loss for what to do next.

He finished getting dressed and headed downstairs, pausing briefly by the long mirror at the door to tidy his fringe. He didn't remember the last time he'd cut his hair, and it was almost at his shoulders now. The thick black waves hung around his pale, slightly pinched face, and he thought briefly of Sirius.

He trooped downstairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and making a point to ignore the portrait of Mrs Black as she embarked on her usual spiel of shrieks and curses. He went into the kitchen and was greeted by the wonderful smell of frying bacon, and the sight of his two best friends sitting around the table.

Hermione Granger was reading a large, black bound book, a pile of further tomes sitting beside her. Since she and Ron had arrived at the house to stay she had done almost nothing but pore through the extensive library, occasionally calling them over to look at some ancient potions recipe or hex that she'd discovered.

Meanwhile, Ron Weasley was absorbed in the pile of rolls, baps and pastries at the centre of the table, which slowly grew as the enchanted stove sizzled away. Harry ducked to avoid a bacon roll as it floated from pan to table, and sat down next to Hermione.

'You're up early.' He said to Ron, who was holding a sausage sarnie in one hand and a croissant dripping with chocolate in the other.

Ron grunted. 'You and your bloody alarm bell!' he moaned. 'Just as well this is the last day, I haven't slept this badly since we were camped out in the woods.'

Hermione glanced up from her book. 'Why don't you just go back to bed then?' She said, with the air of one who had had this conversation before.

Ron gestured to the pile of breakfast, which was now threatening to topple over. 'Might as well make the best of it.'

Harry took a croissant and an iced bun, as a steaming mug of hot chocolate floated over and set itself on the table in front of him. For all its creaks and holes, Grimmauld Place really did have a brilliant kitchen.

'So what's on today?' Ron asked Harry, grabbing a handful of éclairs as they teetered on the edge of Pastry Mountain.

'Narcissa Malfoy.' Harry said, dumping marshmallows into his hot chocolate. 'They've got me on as a witness.'

'What're you gonna say?'

Harry thought back to the night of the battle, when Narcissa had saved him.

'That she was threatened.'

'Threatened?' Hermione said, furrowing her brows. 'You're not just taking her word for that, are you?'

'No.' Harry replied with force. He had forgotten Hermione and Ron hadn't been there on the tower the night Dumbledore was killed. The desperation in Malfoy's voice as he tried to justify himself was as unnerving as the moment Snape had unleashed the killing curse.

Hermione seemed unconvinced, but didn't chase the matter.

Ron snorted. 'Slimy gits, the lot of them. Bet you she's gonna say she was bewitched.'

Hermione looked up from her book. 'Will Draco be there? He was on trial last week, wasn't he?'

'He's been released on probation so yeah, probably.'

Ron almost spat out a sausage. 'They let him go?' he chocked, spattering crumbs. 'Are they mental?'

'He's on house arrest.' Harry said, lamely. He was going to say something else, but held back at the look on Ron's face.

'He tried to kill Dumbledore! He hexed Katie and, unless you all forgot, he almost killed me!'

'I know Ron, he's a slimy little toad, and after the trial we'll never seem him again.' Hermione said consolingly. Her feelings about Malfoy were well known, and she held the distinction of having punched him.

Harry looked up at the clock on the wall, an ancient wooden contraption the looked like a long ruler. Enchanted mice of different sizes scurried along it, a large black one in place of a big hand, a sleeker grey denoting the hour and a small brown dormouse scurrying away the seconds on a wheel at the far end. It was almost half past six, and he didn't feel like defending the Malfoys anymore.

'I'd better go.' He said, keen to avoid the inevitable explosion when Ron found out that Lucius Malfoy, too, had been released from Azkaban on parole.


	2. Bloodsuckers and Bureaucrats

_AN. I do hope you enjoy this next chapter, It features two characters that I always enjoyed in the books. Please do leave a review if you'd like, I'm always keen for constructive criticism!_

 ** _Bloodsuckers and Bureaucracy_**

A sleek black car took Harry to the Ministry, driven by a stony faced Auror. Harry was used to these car rides by now, though their ability the phase through other vehicles on the road still set his stomach on edge. When they arrived another Auror, dressed like a Muggle doorman, escorted him to a door, utterly uninspiring and inconspicuous, which had been installed into an equally bland stretch of wall. As Harry stepped through he felt like he were being probed my dozens of tiny hands, an unnerving experience that he was happy to see the back of when he finally materialised in the fireplace, and stepped out into the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic.

The hall, with its grand sculpted fountain and domed glass roof, had rather worn thin on Harry. He wouldn't have had time to look around even if he wanted to though, as he was bustled through a crowd of angry looking wizards in lilac blue kimonos and practically frogmarched into the lift by two Aurors who had seemingly appeared from no-where the second he set foot inside the ministry.

The lift took them to level two, where Harry was deposited on an uncomfortable leather sofa near the entrance to the courtroom complex. The lobby here was more subdued than the grand entrance hall, and the walls were lined with statues of famous judges and lawmakers, as well as some faces he recognised from his old History of Magic textbook.

The Aurors vanished as quickly as they had appeared in a whip of robes, but Harry knew too well than to think he was alone. Looking at his watch he decided that he had ten minutes to kill before he was due inside, though there was no one else who appeared to be waiting. Witches and Wizards bustled past now and then, but they all seemed preoccupied with their own affairs, and not one of them headed down the long black corridor to the courts.

Harry got up and peered at the bust on the pedestal next to him of a very fat man, his numerous chins drooping realistically. As Harry inched closer one bleary eye opened, and the fat man surveyed him sleepily.

'Ten more minutes Louisa.' He said, yawning. 'I think I'll take my tea in the west drawing room.' Harry stared at him, intrigued, but he had gone right back to sleep.

Just then the defence officer, Coldstone, arrived carrying as usual a poorly organised stack of documents. He was a man of such height that he could have been mistaken for a half giant were he not so thin and gangling. Harry barely reached up to his waist, but could have easily wrapped his hand around the man's leg. Coldstone resembled a crane fly, and in his black robes he was an uncanny sight to behold.

'Potter.' He said, shifting his papers to his left hand and extending his right for Harry to shake. He could have wrapped it around Harry's waist, and Harry as if he were shaking hands with a vulture.

'Ready to face the bloodsuckers?' Coldstone asked, peering down at Harry through a comically tiny pince-nez, which was perched on the end of his sloping nose. 'Should be short and sweet, this one, if the bureaucrats stay off our back.'

'Bureaucrats?' Harry repeated, confused.

'Oh you know what I mean.' Coldstone said, waving a huge hand nonchalantly and almost cuffing Harry around the head. 'The ones behind the scenes, the beating heart of this shambling excuse for a government.'

He finished his condemnation far quieter than he had begun, looking around furtively as if expecting a pencil pusher to leap out from behind the ugly bust of Nicolas Remy and garrotte him with a parchment tie.

'Hm.' Harry said. 'What d'you think'll happen to her?'

'Who? Oh, Mrs Malfoy.' Coldstone repositioned his pince-nez, frowning. 'Well considering the results of the other Malfoy trials I'd expect probation. She's very valuable, you know, she knows a lot about the working of the Death eaters and so does her husband. That's a bargaining tool in their favour. There's the matter of their desertion too, the public likes that sort of thing so I imagine it'll be very cut and dry, yes.'

'So why bother with a trials we all know what's going to happen?' Harry said.

Coldstone tutted. 'Formality, Potter! The public like to think they have a say and the Bureaucrats want to keep it that way. They'll let her squirm then let her off with a slap on the wrist and a month of house arrest, the public will be satisfied, and the wheels of bureaucracy will turn. That's how it's always been. If we don't have the formality all hell would break loose, the people want closure.'

'Got it.' Harry said, wishing he hadn't asked, as Coldstone seemed about to launch into another diatribe when the gong was sounded, signalling the start of court.

Harry had never liked the long, marble corridors of the Department of magical Law Enforcement. Even though he was on the other side of the law he still felt that itching at the back of his neck, and the lurch in his stomach that he had felt when he himself had sat in the accused chair. Even now, after weeks of the same walk to the courtrooms, he felt as if the eyes of the law bored ever sharper into him.

The courtroom was packed, as it had been for the previous Malfoy trials. The room was circular, with seats running the length of the walls right to the painted ceiling. Harry spotted the familiar bottle-blonde head of Rita Skeeter in a top corner, seated beside a dour looking journalist from The Daily Prophet and a witch dressed all in pond-scum green. Skeeter's quill was already scribbling on a large pad of parchment; its mistress' eyes fixed upon the figure seated in the chair in the centre of the room.

Harry was ushered to his seat by Coldstone, who was glancing about excitedly, shedding papers left and right. He sat at twice Harry's height, his knees knocking beneath his chin, while Harry surveyed the scene.

From his seat he could see Narcissa Malfoy in profile. She looked tiny, and her cheeks had hollowed dramatically. Her wrists were thin, and her body skeletal. Nevertheless her long white blonde hair was immaculate, streaming down her back and almost glowing against her handsome forest green robes. She looked like a spirit, half-ethereal and not long for this world, fading away.

In the judge's throne sat a man he didn't recognise, a long-faced old wizard with a shiny black topknot on the very top of his head. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears, and he looked like an ancient baboon.

'Trial on behalf of the victims of the Second Wizarding War, the Families of the victims of Dark Wizard Tom Marvolo Riddle, and survivors of the previous.' He said in a reedy voice, magically amplified. 'The defendant is Narcissa Malfoy, resident at Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. Defendant Wife of Lucius and mother of Draco, both present. Chief interrogator is Astudious Flume…'

Harry looked around the courtroom. He had been surprised to hear Lucius' name read out as present, and sure enough his eyes soon caught a flash of white blonde in the other side of the court with Draco.

The elder Malfoy, like his wife and his son, looked thin. He was tugging nervously at his little pointed beard, a recent addition and one that gave him the look of a frilly pirate. Draco meanwhile was sitting completely still, his long pale fingers drumming on the back of the seat in front.

Both were dressed in black, robes expertly tailored and trimmed with glistening gems. The tip of Lucius Malfoy's ponytail was draped over his shoulder, tipped in silver.

Harry gazed at them, thinking back to their own respective trials. Draco Malfoy had seemed a different man then, unshaven and clothed in loose robes, in need of a haircut and a bath. Clearly the week at home had done him good.

'Potter! Over 'ere.'

Harry started and turned round, finding himself nose to nose with a familiar, if not entirely welcome face.

'Mundungus.' Harry said through gritted teeth. 'You've got some nerve.'

Mundungus Fletcher seemed unabashed. 'Nerve's necessary in this cut throat world, Potter.'

'Is looting Si- My house necessary too?'

'How was I supposed to know you'd be coming back?' Dung replied defensively. 'That shack'd been sitting empty for months, falling to pieces. I probably saved 'alf those trinkets from bein' buried under a ton of bricks!'

'Oh yeah? And selling them, was that another charitable service?' Harry said hotly. 'You're a slippery little thief and you stole my stuff. You should be sitting in court, with all the rest of them.'

'Calm yer britches lad, the war was tough on everyone.' Dung said gruffly. 'I'm not 'ere to get me ear bitten off neither, maybe I don't fancy telling you this very interesting information nowwith all the 'ostility.'

Harry felt the old instincts pull. 'What are you on about, Dung?'

Mundungus shrugged, and settled back in his seat with a satisfied grin. 'not just a 'slippery little thief' now, am I? Maybe Harry Potter fancies bein' all nice to me now?'

Harry knew where this was going. 'I wasn't really going to report you.' This was true, even the satisfaction of seeing Mundungus in the accused chair wouldn't be worth another trip to the Ministry.

Mundungus' smile broadened, showing several missing teeth. 'That's the ticket Harry, friends lookin' out for each other, yeah?'

'Just tell me this 'interesting information' before I change my mind.' Harry grumbled.

Mundungus leant forward, and Harry smelt tobacco and alcohol on his breath. 'Truth is, Potter,' Dung said in a hoarse whisper. 'This trial's already been decided.'

Harry scowled. 'That's what you had to tell me?'

'No no!' Dung hissed, leaning further over the seat. 'There's something else going on, Potter. The ministry's infected. Scum, vermin, crawlin' about behind the scenes.'

Harry thought that was a bit rich coming from Mundungus of all people. 'What do you mean?'

Mundungus looked around, and then stuffed something into Harry's hand.

'There's a secret.' He muttered, 'Lurkin', murmurin' deep in the ground; right under our feet. Keep your ears open, Potter.'

He slunk back, and Harry realised that the drone of the judge had ceased, and quickly turned to face the stand. Some kind of commotion seemed to be taking place; Flume was leaning out of his chair, whispering urgently to a ruffled looking wizard who had appeared at his side, clutching a role of parchment sealed with red wax. Whatever was being said, Flume didn't seem to like it.

The flustered wizard snapped something, and in a whirl of robes apparated out of the room. Flume slid back into his seat, stony faced.

'The outcome of this court has been decided.' He spat.

A furious uproar rose from the stands. Harry felt the wooden bench shake as the wizard next to him leapt to his feet, bellowing incoherently. Across the room Rita Skeeter's enchanted quill stuttered to a halt, splattering the witch in front of her with lime green ink. It took a plume of sparks and a loud firecrack from an Auror on duty to restore order.

Flume's face had flushed to the colour of a beetroot, reminding Harry strongly of Uncle Vernon. He leant over the stand, eyes bulging.

'IF the court is quite settled, the verdict shall be read.'

The stands murmured. Harry heard the wizard at his side, who had looked quite ready to start hurling hexes, curse under his breath.

'Given insinuating circumstances and permission of the Minister, the nature of which of which we are under oath to uphold the secrecy, the defendant, Narcissa Malfoy, is free to go under probation and Ministry supervision with orders to assist in the location and capture of suspects still at large.'

Harry felt a hand at the scruff of his neck, as Coldstone lifted him from his seat and practically launched him towards the door. The din followed like a great rolling boulder, and Harry had to restrain himself from sprinting down the corridor and away from the cacophony. Coldstone followed close behind, loping on his stilt-like legs, as Harry made for the lobby.

'What's going on?' He panted, pausing by the statue of Remy to catch his breath.

But Coldstone was beyond conversation. 'This is completely outrageous!' He spluttered, papers and parchment flying from his arms. 'What the devil does Flume think he's playing at?'

Harry could hear the commotion; it was sending vibrations through the floorboards. Spectators were beginning to trickle from the courtrooms, grumbling and muttering amongst themselves.

'Is this legal?' He asked. 'Can they really just ditch a trial like that?'

Coldstone scowled. 'There's 'can' and there's 'should.'' He grumbled. 'I'd bet a hundred galleons these 'insinuating circumstances' and 'permissions' are lining some bureaucrat's pockets as we speak. The Malfoys sail out of another uncomfortable squeeze on a river of gold.'

He threw his papers to the floor, creating a carpet at their feet. They both stared at the mass of scripts, speeches and statements. A furious witch stormed between them, leaving a large dusty shoe print on a witness report. Coldstone sighed.

'Here's a bit of advice, Potter.' He said. 'In the Ministry of Magic, every rule is a guideline.'

He set about gathering his papers and Harry, seeing no reason to hang around, made for the exit. He was keen to discuss the events of the trial with Ron and Hermione, and perhaps get some more breakfast. The matter that Mundungus had whispered about nagged at him too, and he was eager to read the scrap of musty old parchment clutched in his fist when he heard footsteps. Someone was leaving the courtroom, and as he turned he caught a glimpse yet another of the last people he wanted to see.

Rita Skeeter buzzed up to him, already grasping for her crocodile-skin handbag as her red lips stretched into a smile, showing off her gold teeth.

'Well well well, if it isn't Harry Potter.' She beamed, and Harry saw the Quick Quotes Quill flicker in her hand.

'I don't want to talk to you.' Harry said, wishing he had Hermione with him. The quill was already scribbling away.

'Such a speedy exit from the courtroom where the mother of your school friend was awaiting judgement, would you say your emotions got the best of you as you watched someone so close to you suffer?' She said.

'I-'

'Ready to defend the desperate mother of a proven murderer and dark wizard, a boy who was willing to kill the man you believed to be a father to you, all because you recognised the same motherly love that you mother showed you when she gave her life at the hands of You-Know-Who?'

'I don't-'

'What is it you admire about Draco Malfoy, Harry?' She asked, eyes flashing. 'His shining hair, his piercing eyes? His courage in the face of adversity when you, yourself, have been known to crack under pressure? Would you say your animosity at school was the sparring of frustrated adolescence, or something more?'

Harry gaped at her. The quill hovered, then began to scrawl furiously once again.

Rita smiled. 'Lovely.' She said. 'Is this rampant obsession creating romantic frustration between you and Jenny Weasley?'

'It's Ginny.' Harry said.

'Would you describe yourself as a lover, or a fighter?'

'What?'

'What would Jenny-'

'Ginny.'

'-think of your being here today, Harry? What would you saw about the love triangle long established between you, Jenny and Hermione Granger?'

Harry was thinking of the appropriate hex, when several more people appeared from the entrance to the courtroom. Narcissa Malfoy, flanked by her son and husband, swept across the lobby with a presence unexpected in one so think and sickly looking. A pair of Aurors trailed behind her, and Harry found himself shoved roughly aside by the bigger of the two as the Malfoys were escorted to the lifts.

He looked around for Rita Skeeter, but she was gone.

The lift in the way down was empty, and in the brief moment of peace Harry took a look at the parchment.

It was clearly old, and creased to the point that it was almost impossible to make out the images and text. It looked like something ripped out of a manuscript, and Harry wondered just what Dung had done to get his hands on it.


End file.
